


Hibernation

by Purplesauris



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But only implied, Established Relationship, Hibernation prompt, Hypothermia, I am playing with witcher signs and no one can stop me, M/M, i shant actually kill anyone I promise, there is implied major character death, winter prompt fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplesauris/pseuds/Purplesauris
Summary: They were thoroughly snowed in. This was Jaskier’s third winter with the other witchers, and a storm had raged so fiercely the night before that none of them dared to venture outside.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 183





	Hibernation

**Author's Note:**

> This is for witcher-and-his-bard's winter prompts! I had a lot of fun playing around with this and I hope yall enjoy!

They were thoroughly snowed in. This was Jaskier’s third winter with the other witchers, and a storm had raged so fiercely the night before that none of them dared to venture outside. Instead, the witchers had cleared the main hall as best they could, pushing bookshelves against walls and using the small area to train. Jaskier had perched himself atop one of the rickety bookshelves, half watching, half writing as his witchers had spun and lunged around each other, sweating in the warmth of the room. This was a rare treat for Jaskier, who wasn’t one for sitting in the cold while the others trained. Vesemir, for all his years, moved as quickly as any of the others did, spinning between them and constantly changing who he targeted. It kept the others on their toes, and they flowed together like water, laughing when someone got knocked down and snarling when the edge of a dull blade slammed into them particularly hard.

When the sun comes out two days later, the witchers scatter like leaves in the wind, working to clear the courtyards and walkways again so that they didn’t have to dodge books that Lambert threw just to fuck with them in training. Jaskier gets the main room back into its regular messy disarray while they toil outside, heading out with steaming cups of tea when he can see even stubborn Lambert shiver. They all smile at him, taking a cup and clutching it with red fingers, huddling together and stomping their feet. 

They’re all talking, even Vesemir when Jaskier perks his head up, glancing at something in the distance. None of them seem phased, used to Jaskier’s wandering gaze and whimsical wonder about the snow covered trees. 

“Umm, I don’t mean to interrupt, terribly sorry, but- what in the devil’s name is  _ that _ ?” Jaskier’s tone is still polite, but Geralt glances up when he hears the scared warble and sour spike in his scent. He follows Jaskier’s gaze, raising an eyebrow, but he catches sight of what Jaskier is asking about at the same time his medallion gives a faint hum. Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir’s hands go up at the same time, clutching the medallion and eyes raising to the sky in unison. 

“DOWN.” Vesemir booms, leaping away from the group at the same time Lambert lunges for Geralt. Eskel is the closest to Jaskier and grabs him in a tight hold, crushing him against his chest and crouching low as a wall of orange blazes bright around them. Jaskier stares in abstract horror as enormous, wickedly sharp claws rake over the shield that Eskel has thrown up around them. He feels Eskel shudder with the effort of keeping his shield intact for another blow, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut in fear. He hears the faint tinkle of glass cracking, feels a breeze and listens as Eskel’s shield shatters around them. 

Whatever the beast is, it flies straight toward them, and Jaskier opens his eyes wide to take in what might be his last memory. Its skin is leathery, with a horn that juts proudly from the point of its beak and sweeps back toward its neck. Jaskier faintly recognizes it as a forktail, something Geralt has fought hundreds of times. What is it doing  _ here _ ?

Faint orange shimmers around them, Eskel slowly rebuilding his shield, and just as the forktail dives, claws outstretched, Lambert and Geralt dive into the way, Geralt throwing a blistering wave of fire and Lambert throwing his hands up as Eskel’s weaker attempt solidifies rapidly into a full shield once again. Together the two of them combine their strength, holding the shield as Geralt uses another molten blast of Igni to send the forktail screeching away. Vesemir joins Geralt in watching the beasts retreat, and only when Vesemir turns to nod at them do Lambert and Eskel drop the shield. Eskel groans, letting go of Jaskier and stumbling back a couple of steps. Jaskier isn’t sure whether his hands are shaking because of the near death experience or the cold, but he doesn’t want to spend the time figuring it out. 

Instead, he turns and throws his arms around Eskel, squeezing him tight and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lambert grouses behind them, rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, give  _ him _ attention.”

Jaskier releases Eskel only once the scarred man gives him a quick squeeze, then he moves to Lambert and does the same thing. Lambert, for all his bravado, squeezes Jaskier just as tight and blushes when Jaskier plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jaskier grins at the sigh of a witcher blushing, but then Geralt catches him gently by the waist and steals the last of his breath with a very sweet, very thorough kiss. Jaskier is sure that Lambert will say something, but they all seem relieved that Jaskier is safe, and Lambert has already gotten his hug. Jaskier doesn’t move away from Geralt when they finally pull apart, knowing he won’t get very far anyway. Jaskier stays pressed against Geralt’s side as they all turn to Vesemir, who’s still watching the skyline with a hand rubbing along his jaw in contemplation. 

“The snowfall must have taken its source of food. Geralt, Lambert, follow the scent and track it down. We don’t need it snatching up any livestock, or one of us.” Vesemir doesn’t say anyone in particular, but they all know that the draconid was after one person this time. 

“Fuckin finally,  _ something _ to do around here. Let’s go before it gets dark.” Geralt nods, arm tightening around Jaskier for a moment before Eskel comes to guide him back inside. Both Lambert and Geralt work quickly to don their armor and collect what potions they'll need for the fight, and Jaskier stands by the door, waving them off when they finally head out. 

Once the doors to the keep closes Jaskier bites his lip, whispering to himself. “They’ll be okay, right?” 

It feels silly to worry about them, especially when it’s a single forktail and there’s two of them, but Jaskier’s stomach is in knots and he has a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

-*-

They’re gone for 6 and a half days. Jaskier counts every minute that goes by, working as best he can to keep up with the excess chores while they’re gone. Every night he falls into bed exhausted and wakes up crying, Eskel sitting on the edge of his bed and petting his hair. By the third day Eskel makes himself a bed on the floor, holding Jaskier’s hand so that he’ll sleep through the night. Jaskier tries to get him up into the bed, but Eskel refuses and makes himself comfortable on the carpet. 

Jaskier is in the main hall, sweeping and trying not to mope when the door creaks, pushed by a heavy gust of icy wind. Jaskier feels magic shiver over his skin, and he runs to pull the door open, catching the witcher that sags into his arms immediately. Jaskier hoists him up, arms trembling only for a moment as he lugs the freezing, heavy witcher over to the fire and deposits him in a chair. He calls for Eskel then Vesemir, yelling as loud as he can and knowing they’ll come running. Lambert’s ankle is twisted savagely to the right, the angle all wrong, and Jaskier’s heart thunders in his ears. He’s covered in blood, but it’s frozen and Jaskier can see that the skin underneath has begun to turn blue. Jaskier strains to pull the chair closer to the fire, needing to get him thawing as quickly as he can.

“Jaskier, what is-” He doesn’t look up from where he’s coasting shaking hands over Lambert’s face, checking for breathing and using the warmth of his fingers to melt the snow sticking to his face. Lambert stares glassily, eyes half wild and none of his awareness fully on any of them. “Go get water, not the hot, the cold. Towels too.”

“But-” 

“Jask. Go.” Eskel’s voice is firm, and he does as he’s told, hurrying to go find a bucket of water that hasn’t been too close to the fire. While he’s searching for clean towels he hears a snap and Lambert howling in pain. That has him scurrying back with whatever towels are cleanest and the water, hurrying back to Lambert’s side. Lambert’s ankle is back in the right orientation, he can see that much, and Eskel is beginning to strip away layers of his armor as the blood melts and releases. Once he’s got Lambert naked in the chair Eskel has Jaskier wipe him down, getting any remaining chunks of ice off of him with the cold water while he pokes and prods, searching for any more broken bones. Thankfully, his ankle seems to have gotten the brunt of it, and Eskel forces a dose of Swallow down along with a shot of mahakam spirits.

Lambert coughs as the alcohol burns down his throat, but Eskel gives him another, and soon Lambert begins to shiver. Jaskier lays a towel over Lambert’s lap when Vesemir finally comes in, shrewd eyes assessing the situation before he moves to add a few more logs to the fire. It roars hotter than before and Jaskier is beginning to sweat, beads dripping down his face. At least he thinks he is until Lambert weakly reaches up, using an icy finger to wipe away a tear that’s escaped. “Crying over me, little lark?”

“Who would cry over you?” Jaskier says weakly, sniffling and wiping at the tears that have been steadily falling down his cheeks. Lambert huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes for a moment as he shifts, hissing at the pain that shoots up his leg from his ankle. 

“You did good, Jaskier.” Vesemir’s voice is soft, and the bard sniffles, leaning into the hand the old witcher lays on his shoulder. “He didn’t make it, did he?”

Lambert shakes his head, jaw clenching, and Jaskier looks up between the two of them. It takes a few moments for Jaskier to understand, and he shakes his head, slowly at first, and then faster until he’s dizzy and can’t think right and he has to take a seat next to Lambert on the floor. 

“We cornered the forktail, but the damn thing screamed and brought an avalanche down on our asses.” Lambert glances over at Jaskier, hesitating before he reaches to take Jaskier’s hand and hold it tight in his. “Geralt was closer than I was, and he blasted me away from the worst of it with Aard. My ankle got crushed by falling rocks, and it took me a while to make my way back here.”

“You left him there?” Jaskier looks up at Lambert, fury and sorrow and heartbreak etched across his face. “H-he must be so  _ scared _ . What if he’s still out there?”

“His body is.” Lambert squeezes his hand tight, and Jaskier looks up to see tears glimmering in his eyes too. Eskel comes over, crouching by the two of them, and places a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and Lambert’s knee. Vesemir moves to stand behind Lambert’s chair, not touching anyone but sharing in the moment as Jaskier begins to weep. His shoulders shake with the effort of his sobs and he curls up, pressing his forehead against Lambert’s hand and feeling his heart break in his chest. It splinters and stabs at every part of him, and Jaskier isn’t sure how he’s going to piece it back together. No one says anything else to him, letting him cry and scream and deny that Geralt is gone. 

The fire has burned low and Lambert is sufficiently warm by the time that Jaskier speaks again. Eskel is meditating beside them and Vesemir has retreated to deal with his grief alone, but the two still with him perk up to listen. “We have to go get his- body.” 

Jaskier’s voice breaks again and he chokes back more sobs, looking up to find Lambert staring back, eyes fierce with grief. “We will.”

Lambert has Jaskier and Eskel help him hobble up to bed and get a fire going, never objecting when Jaskier crawls in beside him and Eskel makes himself comfortable on the floor. Jaskier shivers despite still being fully clothed, and Lambert wraps an arm around him, closing his eyes and holding the bard until he falls asleep, spent. 

-*- 

Jaskier is already awake, cloak draped around him and boots on when Lambert wakes up that morning. Lambert takes one look at him and begins to get dressed as well, regardless of the way his ankle twinges. Another dose of Swallow has his pain melting away and his ankle as strong as before, and they wake Eskel to get ready as well. Jaskier bounces from foot to foot as they head down the stairs, frowning when Lambert stops to gather jerky, water and some other emergency supplies. He isn’t sure what it’s going to be like outside getting back, but Jaskier isn’t going to be able to push nearly as hard as they can and Lambert knows this. 

Despite the fragility of Jaskier’s humanity, he ends up being the one to urge the others on, fists clenched in his gloves and cheeks flaming red in the cold winter air. Lambert remembers his way easily, and there hasn’t been that much snowfall that their footprints have disappeared, so Jaskier can follow along even without supernatural senses. The trek only takes them a day to get out to where the avalanche has dumped snow and rocks into the countryside, and Jaskier sleeps fitfully under the trees for an hour or two at the max. 

They pick their way through the snow around rocks after Lambert insists they eat something when Jaskier cries out. He takes off running, throwing snow up around him with two witchers on his heels. They nearly bowl him over when he skids to a stop, staring at the carnage around him. Off to the left, pinned between two rocks is the carcass of the forktail, blood frozen in sheets across the snow. Somehow it didn’t get buried in the avalanche, but Lambert and Eskel are looking around with wide, astonished eyes as if Jaskier is missing something important. All the trees around them are missing branches on the side facing the clearing, and if there were any trees in the middle of the clearing they’ve found, there aren’t anymore, just jagged stumps poking up through the snow. 

“What?” Jaskier demands, breathless and heart pounding in his chest. 

“It’s a Quen circle.” Eskel whispers, sharing a pained look with his brother. 

“A what?” Jaskier is lost, and he looks around at all the destruction and the body of the forktail. 

“When our shields break, they don’t just go away. If we concentrate hard enough, we can use the momentum of whatever hit us and feed it into the shield. It causes an explosion matching the energy of whatever hit the shield last.” Eskel’s voice is cowed by awe, and Jaskier thinks he’s beginning to understand. 

“So this-”

“He somehow held out long enough for the whole damn avalanche to crash down on him before blowing his shield.” Lambert confirms, pride shining in his voice.

“Could he have survived?”

“The blast? Maybe, but I don’t know how long he held out before letting go, and if he was weak enough…” Eskel is still looking over the clearing, trying to gauge the power of the blast fully.

“It was long enough for me to crawl away. I never heard his shield break..” Lambert takes another glance around before stalking for the middle of the clearing. “C’mon assholes, lets sweep the area and see if we can find him.”

“Right.” Jaskier’s voice is thick in his throat, and though he’s shivering and can hardly feel his toes he gets to work. They work their way out slowly, each taking a third of the area and walking along their set path. Lambert and Eskel have both gone over their chunks twice by the time that Jaskier has gone through once, but Jaskier doesn’t have witcher eyes or their sense of smell, so he takes his time. He gets to the edge of the clearing where the trees have survived the blast relatively unscathed and is about to turn back when he’s blinded by sun reflecting off the worn silver of a pommel. “Guys! I- I found him.”

His voice drops to a whisper and he walks a few steps into the deeper snow. By the time that Lambert and Eskel join him he’s elbow deep, tossing handfuls as fast as he can. The snow is light, thank Melitele, but there’s a lot, and it takes the three of them to uncover him. He’s surrounded in a shell of ice that Lambert has to use the handle of his dagger to break through to finally get to him. Geralt is curled up in a tight ball, chin tucked against his chest and swords still in their sheaths on his back. Snow sticks to his armor and clumps in his hair, and he’s paler than Jaskier has ever seen him. His lips are blue, snow sticking delicately to his lashes, and Jaskier lets out a shaky sob at the sight of him. He reaches to brush snow from Geralt’s hair and cries out as the scent of singed leather and skin fills the air. 

Eskel takes Jaskier’s hand, yanking his glove off to look at the damage. Two of the fingers on his left hand are red and blistered, and the fingers on his gloves have disintegrated in the spots that Jaskier came into contact with Geralt’s body. Eskel grabs some bandages from the pack, glad that Lambert thought to bring them. They don’t have any salve with them, but Eskel wraps Jaskier’s fingers anyway and gives him one of his gloves. 

Jaskier doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, but Lambert and Eskel share a glance and Lambert sighs heavily. “I’ll take the first round.”

“First round of what?” Jaskier doesn’t know what they’re going to do since no one can touch him, but Jaskier watches as a pale orange sleeve envelopes Lambert, encasing him in a shimmering full body shield. The younger witcher hoists Geralt’s curled form up into his arms, grunting at the weight and the constant hissing of Geralt coming in contact with his shield. 

“Get the fuck going.” Lambert hisses, and Jaskier stumbles up and away, back toward the keep in the distance. They make it back in half the time it took them to get out to the site, Jaskier refusing to stop. He insists that if Eskel and Lambert have to exhaust themselves maintaining a constant shield and passing Geralt between them the least he can do is keep up. They’re almost there when Lambert stumbles, shield flickering and arms shaking. He sets Geralt in the snow, panting, and Jaskier touches his shoulder. “I can’t keep it up anymore.”

“Let me.” Jaskier says, stepping up and crouching beside Geralt’s prone form.

“You can’t use signs, and you don’t have a witcher’s strength.”

“No, but you two can. Do you have enough strength between you to keep me covered?”

“I don’t know for how long.” Eskel chimes in, looking just as ragged as Lambert. 

“Then we’d better hurry. Ready?” The brothers share a look before nodding, and Jaskier feels the intimate press of magic as their shield falls into place. Jaskier lifts Geralt in his arms, adjusting his grip and then setting off up the hill toward the keep. Jaskier can feel Geralt in his arms, a raging inferno that constantly pings at the shield around him. Jaskier pushes on regardless of his thighs burning and his knees going weak. Lambert and Eskel bolster their shield when they finally get into the courtyard, waving Vesemir off when he moves to help. Jaskier’s gaze is set singularly on the doors of the keep, and he hardly notices when Vesemir’s magic adds a layer to the thinning shield that Lambert and Eskel had been holding for the past hour. 

“Put him by the fire.” Jaskier can’t feel his arms anymore, hasn’t been able to for the past half hour, and he’s clumsy as he sets Geralt down, nudging him a bit closer to the fire. Vesemir kneels down beside the two of them, and Jaskier hears the tinkling of glass as the shield around him falls away and Jaskier sags, collapsing onto the floor. Lambert and Eskel jerk forward, trying to catch him, but Vesemir holds a hand out for them to stop. “He’s just exhausted.”

“What about Geralt?” Vesemir looks him over, hands protected as he assesses the damage. After a while Vesemir sits back on his heels, sighing and standing up. 

“He’s alive.” Jaskier stirs at those words, arms quaking as he tries to lift himself off the floor. Vesemir hoists him up into a sitting position, and Jaskier tries weakly to grip his hand. “I don’t know that he’ll wake, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what he’s done to himself.” The admission is startling; Vesemir has been alive longer than any of them, has trained countless scores of witchers, but what he sees here has him baffled. “It seems to be a form of meditation, but this here,” Vesemir gestures to the shield that flares up whenever his hand strays too close. “I don’t know how he’s managed to do this, let alone maintain it.”

“But he could wake up?”

“If he can find his way back to us.” Vesemir nods, not wanting to give hope where there is none but trusting in Geralt to do the impossible, as he’s done many times before. Lambert and Eskel are able to wrestle Geralt’s armor and equipment off him, leaving him just in his regular clothes. The armor is near ruined from the cold press of all that snow anyhow, and they won’t be able to properly repair it until they go down the mountain in the spring.

-*-

They take turns peeking to see if he’s moved as they go about their chores for the next month, and every night Jaskier sets up a bedroll and tucks himself as close as he can get without being burnt. They operate without him truly here during the worst month of the winter, struggling to keep up with the work that needs to be done with a pair of hands missing. Jaskier spends most of his time when he isn’t working sitting next to Geralt, talking or singing or just sitting nearby, staring into the fire and sniffling softly as he cries. They keep it roaring constantly, hoping that the heat will help. Geralt’s color comes back slowly over the course of the month, until all the snow is melted off of him and his lips are the same dusky pink that Jaskier remembers.

Jaskier is tucked away for the night, staring at Geralt’s face and wishing he could trace the straight line of his nose or even kiss his forehead and not get hurt. A couple of tears splash onto his cheeks, and he’s so tired of crying, but every time he looks at Geralt prone on the floor he feels his sorrow choking him, tearing and clawing at his chest in an effort to get free. 

“Come back. Please.” Jaskier whispers, scooting a bit closer and reaching out a wavering hand. He feels the heat of the shield and stops just shy, fingers poised to touch his cheek. He waits a second, then drops his hand, resting it on the floor between them and laying his head down to sleep. He smiles when fingers interlock with his, squeezing gently. Jaskier’s sleepy mind doesn’t comprehend the touch for a moment, but when he does his eyes fly open. “Geralt?”

Geralt is still curled up, but he’s reached a hand out and clutches Jaskier’s own hand like a lifeline. The red hot barrier around him melts away slowly, starting at his fingertips, and Jaskier watches in mute shock as Geralt blinks sleepily and yawns, stretching out and sitting up. “You’re on the floor.”

“ _ You’re _ on the floor.” Jaskier replies wetly, using the heel of his free hand to press at one eye. He gives a broken sob and crawls into Geralt’s waiting arms, tucking his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck as sobs wrack his body. Geralt rocks him, petting his hair and murmuring sweet nothings as Jaskier’s fingers curl in his shirt. Eskel and a very sleepy Lambert find them that way, Jaskier curled up asleep in Geralt’s arms and Geralt staring into the fire. His eyes are haunted when he looks to his brothers, and he presses a finger to his lips to keep them quiet. 

“How did I get back here?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to wake Jaskier. “All I remember is the snow, and then the blast.”

Lambert plops down on Jaskier’s bedroll, dragging Eskel with him and grumbling at being awake for questions. “We carried your fatass back. Wasn’t easy either, we couldn’t touch you without using Quen, and by the time we got back Jaskier had to carry you the rest of the way inside.”

“He can’t use Quen.” Geralt points out, Lambert rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah no shit. Eskel and I had to hold together a shitty ass shield around the lark to keep him from getting burnt to a crisp. Mind telling us what that whole ‘burning anyone who touches’ shit was?”

Geralt is silent for a while, as if still shaking off the cold, before he answers. “A safety net.”

“But  _ how _ ?” Eskel chimes in, glancing at Lambert to tell him to be patient. 

“It’s- Quen. Just hotter.” Geralt seems uncomfortable trying to explain, as if he isn’t quite sure how it works himself. Geralt sighs, shushing them when Jaskier stirs and nuzzles into his neck, seeking warmth. “How long was I out?”

“Almost a month, give or take a couple days. Really scared the shit out of us, you know.” It’s the closest Lambert will get to saying he was worried, but Geralt hears the meaning all the same. Eskel waves a hand, as if wiping away the past month of worry.

“Just glad to have you back, wolf. Took a while." It sounds like a statement, but Geralt can tell they want to know more and he feels it's only right to share what he can.

"The strain of holding all the energy in the shield was… It's- I'm not sure how to explain. Imagine holding a shield against a bomb, and then multiplying it by a hundred."

"That's… near impossible, even for me." Eskel frowns, trying to imagine holding that much energy for as long as Geralt did. 

"I didn't think it would work." Geralt admits, glancing back toward the fire. "Channeling all the energy back out through the shield to release it put me into an immediate meditative state. Most of my major organs shut down and my heart nearly stopped. I used the- safety net to draw energy into my body again. Just enough to keep my heart going and kickstart my major organs until the snow melted or you guys came back."

"I think that's the most you've ever said." Lambert jumps when Jaskier speaks, but Geralt doesn't seem surprised and Eskel hides his reaction much better. 

"You weren't awake to say it for me." Geralt replies, and Jaskier chuckles quietly.

"Could you show me the shield again? On just your hand?"

Geralt grimaces, reaching out and concentrating. The same barrier as before spreads across his hand, but it's weak, and Geralt lets it drop quickly. "It's usually for emergencies only."

"Think I could try?" Eskel seems almost excited about doing something different with his signs, and Geralt lifts a shoulder to say  _ why not? _

"If anyone can figure out how I've done it, it would be you."


End file.
